Satan's Little Helper

I I - [ D A E M O N ]

"NO, SIR! Please! I don't want to turn back!" The demon before me pleads and begs for his release, but it's too late―The Devil shows no mercy.

The demon, otherwise known as Rimmon, has failed me immensely, not completing his task in time and following orders. That is an offense punishment-worthy, and he knows it.

Firm, stern, and merciless. My father's words repeat in my head. Satans must always keep a cold heart. Do not cower or back down from anything for everyone fears you. You are in power, in control; Hell's ruler must not show frailty. But the most important one, son, is this: ignore all feelings for they will imprison you and weaken you physically, emotionally, and mentally altogether. Love is a weapon of mass destruction and reconstruction, so make sure it is always the former and take that as an advantage when you find a human being willing enough to give herself to you. However, keep this in mind: Satans are never capable of love.

"Please, please don't turn me back into one of... Them." Rimmon pleads again, staring at the underdeveloped demons behind him and spitting in disgust.

"I am feeling a tad generous today," I say, mock empathy.

"Please, Lord Daemon. Give me another chance and I wi―" But the demon is cut off by a kind of red mist that appears with a gesture of my one finger. It surrounds him and appears to be swallowing him whole, and the shadow of his figure becomes smaller somehow.

"You do understand that not following orders is a serious offense? And so therefore, you will be punished accordingly. You will remain in this form for the rest of your life until you are needed. And you'd better pray in the name of Satan that you will be needed more than necessary. Do you understand, Rimmon?"

Rimmon, now an underdeveloped demon and lacking the ability to speak, bubbles in response instead.

"Mara, get the guards to put this... Thing in the newcomer's pen." I order Mara, my left hand. The newcomer's pen is a place where newly-turned or new-coming underdeveloped demons are put. They will be taught discipline and to obey every rule until such time, if they are chosen for whatever reason by a greater demon, they will develop into a real demon like what Rimmon once was. Otherwise, if they are stupid enough and decide to rebel against my orders, they will suffer from a something far worse than death―a lifetime of endless torture.

As if being a plain ole demon itself has its ups.

A common demon is like any normal citizen you'd find on earth, only that working is a must regardless of age. It doesn't matter what you work for or what it is―as long as you serve a purpose down here in Hell, you will not be banished and will be given a place to stay. If, however, you grow weak and crippled, you will be gone just like that without anyone really giving a shit.

"Of course, Sir." Mara turns to the guards by the door. "Guards! Bring that thing to the newcomer's pen and clean up the mess after. Do not leave a stain."

The two guards rush to the black, deformed demon, slimy and slug-like crawling on the floor. One of them picks it up and brings it out the room while the other cleans up after its mess; a dark, intoxicating trail of slime.

"Anything else, Sir?"

"No. That is all for now. You may leave, Mara." I say, pinching my nose bridge and closing my eyes.

"Yes, Sir, of course. Do call if you ever need anything." He bows before me and is quickly gone, leaving soft, dark fog.

I slump back in my leather recliner made up of demon skin.